


Drag Me To Hell

by zoe19blink



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-05-28 00:26:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6306463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoe19blink/pseuds/zoe19blink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>5B Canon Divergence, in which Henry decides he is fed up with the bullshit of Captain Swan. He's going to get his father back, goddamn it. And no one's going to stop him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

 

 

He was dead.

Henry tucked his arms under his head, staring up at the ceiling in wonderment. _Dead_. Killian Jones was dead. 

He supposed he should feel something: some kind of loss, some kind of pain—maybe a regret that he’d never made much of an effort to get to know the man. But really, all he felt was an overwhelming sense of apathy. 

Killian Jones was dead. So what?

He knew what loss felt like; he knew what grief was. He had a scrapbook hidden in his floor boards that held the precious few photos he had taken with Neal; a few napkins Neal had absently doodled on that Henry had swiped without him realizing. At the time, he didn't know why he’d saved them, but he was glad he did: to have something of his father’s, something so trivial and everyday, was like having a moment of his life pressed safely between two panes of glass. And Henry would have given anything to have just another moment with his father. 

The door opened downstairs, startling him out of his stupor. Booted footsteps scuffed in—Emma’s footsteps. Henry propped himself up on his elbows, a slight frown etched on his face as he listened to the voices downstairs.

“Emma,” Snow said, surprised. “Where’ve you been? I called you—“

“At the house,” Emma interrupted.

Henry flicked his eyes upward derisively. _The house._ Killian had made a rather lame attempt to bond with Henry over finding a house for him and Emma. Henry had agreed, because at that moment, Emma was the Dark One: imagining a future where she _wasn’t_ was the only thing that gave him a reprieve from the heartbreak of losing his mother. 

Although if he was being honest with himself, he’d lost his mother long before that. Right around the time he’d lost his father. 

Emma hadn't been the same since Neal died: she’d lost that little spark of mischief in her eyes, the conspiratorial smile that only Henry knew about. They’d drifted apart: Emma had thrown herself into Killian’s arms, and Henry had thrown himself into a mission to find the Author. A mission that had been meant to rewrite Regina’s happy ending…but also Henry’s. A hidden agenda, to write his father’s life back. 

“Can’t be done,” the Sorcerer had told him. “It happened in reality. The Author has no control over the reality in this world.”

He’d shattered the pen. It was useless, no point in keeping it. 

Emma’s voice drifted back in his ear as the memories receded. “…heard voices,” she was saying. “The dagger—it was speaking to me.”

“What do you mean, _it was speaking to you?”_ The skepticism in Regina’s voice was almost tangible. “You’re not even the Dark One anymore, what connection do you have to the dagger?”

“I don’t understand it myself,” Emma admitted. “That’s why I went to Gold.”

“And?” David asked.

“And…we talked.” 

She was clearly hiding something, Henry realized. He frowned deeper, and swung his legs out of bed. Whatever was happening, he wanted to be there for it. He was sick of standing on the sidelines and watching his family fade away, piece by piece. He wasn't a helpless little kid, and he sure as hell wasn't going to let them treat him like one.

“You’re going to _Hell?_ ” Snow said, just as he jumped the last few steps and strolled into the kitchen, hands in pockets.

“The _Underworld.”_

“Right, because the distinction is important,” David scoffed.

“I’m getting him back,” Emma said, looking at them desperately. Henry squirmed: he hated that look on her face, the neediness in her eyes. The Emma Swan he knew hadn't needed anybody: she had been driven by the need to protect, by her hero instincts. This Emma was unrecognizable. She was seemingly without air, without life; she looked withdrawn and sickly, like an addict hungering after a fix. 

“This isn't fair to Killian,” Emma went on.”Gold tricked him. Everything he gave up was based on a lie.”

“Grandpa didn't lie to him,” Henry heard himself say. “What are you talking about?”

Everyone turned to look at him: Snow and David with pity in their eyes, and Emma with defensiveness.

“He siphoned the Darkness back into the dagger, and tethered it to himself,” she said. “He’s the Dark One again. Killian sacrificed himself to put an end to the Darkness, and Gold—”

“Took advantage of that, but he didn't lie to him,” Henry said flatly. “Killian was going to drag us all to Hell, and now you want to do the same thing?”

“Henry—” Snow began.

“Why do we have to go to the Underworld?” he demanded. 

He already knew the answer, and he knew it set off a dangerous rage in him—and he knew he needed to hear her say it, because otherwise, he wouldn't be able to actually _believe_ it. She hadn't been there for him; she hadn't helped him grieve Neal’s death, she hadn't bothered spending any time with him—she’d just consumed herself with Killian, living and breathing him, night and day. Henry had become an afterthought: he barely slept, barely ate, and his grades had plummeted, but that hadn't been enough to drag Emma away from Killian. 

He tried not to resent her for it; tried to remember that Emma was grieving in her own way; but that didn't change the fact that he’d needed his mother, and she hadn't been there. Killian had been her entire universe; and even now that he was gone, she was chasing after him again.

Leaving Henry behind.

For him.

“Why do we have to go to the Underworld?” Henry repeated, raising his eyebrows. “Tell me.”

“F-for Killian,” Emma said, blinking rapidly from the force of his gaze. “To save him.”

“Save him from what? _Death?_ People die, Mom. It happens.” Henry folded his arms, staring at her with cold, steely eyes. _Why wasn't this an option when Dad died?_ a bitter voice said in the back of his mind. _Why didn't she want to save Dad?_

“Besides, Emma, you know it doesn't work like that,” David warned. “Someone else will have to die, it’s a one-for-one trade.”

“And you just got back from being the Dark One, you can’t give into Darkness again,” Snow said.

“I won’t,” Emma said quickly, shifting her eyes away from Henry. “I’m giving into love.”

Henry’s eyebrows shot up. “For a guy who was going to kill your entire family moments before he died?” he said incredulously. “You couldn't give into love after Dad died? After he gave up his life to save the town, so you could find Zelena?”

A wave of anger rushed over him, and he kicked the chair, sending it splintering to the ground. David and Snow let out startled gasps, and Emma jumped back, staring at him with wide eyes.

“That turned out to be completely useless, too, didn't it?” Henry demanded. “Killian didn't really get rid of the Darkness, and you didn't really get rid of Zelena, did you? Everything Neal gave up was based on a lie, too! He thought you were going to save this town from her, he thought you were going to do your damn job and be a Savior again!”

Another chair went down, this time startling Regina and Robin. Henry ignored their attempts to reach for him, advancing toward Emma with a dark glare. 

“And now, you want to sacrifice another one of us for him?” he shouted. “How many more people do I have to lose? How many more of us do  I have to watch die?”

“I’m not going to sacrifice anyone else!” Emma stammered. “I-I think  I know a way around it.” She looked at David and Snow, taking in a shuddering breath. “You two share a heart…”

Henry narrowed his eyes. “ _Don’t,”_ he said. The more she spoke, the angrier he got. It was like he’d been keeping everything behind a dam, and every word was another crack in it. “I swear to God, _don’t._ ”

“…so will we,” Emma finished. “It worked for you two—why not me and Killian?”

Henry rounded on his grandparents. “Say something to her!” he exclaimed. “Tell her she’s nuts!”

“Henry’s right, Emma,” David frowned. “You don’t know it will work. Snow and I were barely confident it would work, and we’re bonded by True Love.”

Henry whirled around, daring Emma to say her next words: words he _knew_ were coming, but still felt surreal to hear coming from her.

“So are Killian and I.”

“But not you and Dad, right?” Henry said witheringly. “You can do all this for _Killian,_ but Dad is dead and gone and there’s no use crying over it anymore, right?”

“Henry, where is this coming from?” Emma pleaded helplessly. “Why are you doing this?”

“Why are you trying to save a guy who doesn't give a rat’s ass about anyone but you?” Henry shot back. “Why didn’t you think of this after Neal died? He meant something to _everybody,_ but you’re only interested in saving a guy who means something to you! How can you be so selfish?”

He pushed past her, jerking away from her outstretched hands, and stalked out the door, slamming it behind him. He could hear their frantic footsteps overhead, and immediately sped up, practically flying down the stairs.

He didn't even know where he was going. His feet were hitting the pavement faster and faster, running blindly. Blood pounded in his ears, his head burning from his rising anger. Questions and screams burst against the barriers of his mind, threatening the break of sanity: he couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't _believe_ the person Emma had become. She disgusted him, and for the first time in his life, he knew what it was to truly hate Emma Swan.


	2. Chapter 2

His hands slammed against the door, shoving it open so forcefully, the little bell was ripped out of the wall. Henry’s boots crushed the delicate metal and muffled the pathetic, dying trill as he strode over it and into the shop. Glaring, he cast his gaze around the dim, cluttered room: it looked empty, but Henry knew Rumple was in here somewhere. 

There was a small scuffling sound from behind the curtain; Henry whirled around and saw his grandfather making his way slowly and deliberately toward him. There was something in his hands—a metal something, gold and half-polished—that he was carefully rubbing a rag over. Indeed, it seemed to be consuming his attention more than Henry’s appearance; he didn't take his concentrated gaze off, not even glancing up when he offered him a polite, “Hello, Henry.”

Henry shoved his hands in his pockets, trudging over to Rumple’s desk. “What’s that?” he asked, nodding at the object Rumple was working on. 

“It’s of little consequence,” Rumple shrugged, meticulously examining it nonetheless. “A pocket watch, nothing more. Not magic, just…old.”

Henry lifted his eyebrows. “How old?”

“Not sure,” Rumple mused, tilting it in his hand. He smiled briefly, a smile that only reached the corners of his lips. “Isn’t it funny…We create these little devices, trying to capture Time inside them, fully aware of how infinite Time is…and yet, there never seems to be enough?”

 _Never seems to be enough._ Henry shifted on his feet, keeping his gaze firmly on the watch to guard against the press of tears behind his eyes. If there was anything he’d wished he had more of, it was time.

Rumple seemed to hear his unspoken words; he abruptly snapped the watch shut, letting out a little sigh. “Alas, we cannot spend the precious little time we have wishing for more.” He put the watch down and braced his hands on either side of his desk, looking up at Henry. “So—what can I do for you, lad? You walked in here like a force to be reckoned with.” He flitted his eyes, looking past him. “I see you broke my little bell.”

“Sorry,” Henry said gruffly.

“That’s all right.” Rumple studied him for a moment. “What’s on your mind?”

Henry looked down at his shoes, twisting the toe of his boot into the floorboards. He hadn't realized he was going to run to Rumple’s shop: there hadn't been a conscious decision made, not even a passing thought. He had just started running, fueled by a whirlwind of anger and pain and sorrow; just started running as fast as his legs could carry him away from that diseased apartment. 

He ran down Main Street, barely seeing the blur of shops and townspeople, barely hearing the startled gasps of those he shoved past; ran down the alley, splashing gray water and mud everywhere; ran until his feet just switched directions and carried him through the door. 

Henry lifted his head, looking at Rumple with careful eyes. “Hook’s dead,” he ventured.

Rumple hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Yes.”

“And…” Henry pulled at a loose string. “Emma’s pretty upset.”

“Yes,” Rumple repeated. “I know. I spoke with her.”

“About the Underworld.”

“Amongst other things,” was the evasive response. “But yes. She was interested in finding a way around Death.”

“Did she…?” Henry stopped, suddenly losing his nerve. “N-never mind,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I don’t—”

“Did she ever come to me, asking for a way around Death after Bae died?” Rumple supplied quietly. 

Henry’s head snapped up; he stared at Rumple with wide eyes, feeling his heart shrivel as he gazed at the hardened grief on his grandfather’s face. 

“She did not,” Rumple said, his voice cold and leaden. “But I suppose it had everything to do with her  war on magic, at that time. When she was still convinced she was going to return to New York and leave everyone behind. Hook was fortunate enough to die at a time when Emma has not only embraced her magic, but depends on it. My boy was never so lucky.” He glanced up at Henry, his features softening immediately. “I-I’m sorry, Henry, I didn't mean to—I mean, she _is_ your mother, I shouldn't have—”

“You’re right.”

Rumple trailed off, looking at him almost incredulously. Henry swallowed, tightening his hands into fists.

“You’re right,” he repeated, his voice more a strained croak than anything. “She didn't even try to save Neal. She just accepted it, and let him die. But Hook…” Henry exhaled slowly, staring sightlessly past Rumple. “Hook, she’ll save.”

Rumple was quiet for a long time, watching Henry with cautious eyes. “You know,” he remarked, slowly working his way from behind the desk. “During those last few days, when Bae and I were still soul-bound…I was able to separate our thoughts. And I heard him.”

Henry forced down the lump in his throat, feeling his muscles strain with the effort of remaining still. “And?” he asked, hating the rasp of tears at the back of his voice. “What did you hear?”

“He thought of you.” Rumple smiled—a genuine smile, full of warmth and fondness, a twinge of grief hiding in the corner. “Oh, he thought of you, Henry. Constantly. He’d’ve done anything for you. All he ever thought about was you, and how to get back to you; how much he needed you to remember him, how much he needed to hold you again. Oh, God, Henry…he loved you. More than life.” Rumple put his hand on Henry’s shoulder, smiling through tear-filled eyes. “He wanted to be a father to you.”

Henry took a quick step back, turning around to face the window. He couldn't look at Rumple, or even his own reflection, right now: he kept his eyes trained on the latch, fighting the rush of emotion behind them. 

A flood of images invaded his mind, memories of Neal flickering like rapid-fire shots. Sword fighting in the park, pizza in New York, sailing an invisible pirate ship—not enough memories, not nearly enough. He had gone over them so many times, he was almost worried he’d imagined them. 

“I miss him,” he said finally. “I just…I wish I’d know him better.”

“I have my regrets, too.” Rumple took a few steps, the floorboards creaking underfoot. “That I let myself lose him, again and again…I tried so hard to find in him the boy I left that I never had a chance to know the man he’d become.” 

Henry dropped his eyes, kneading his fist against the counter. “I was going to write him back,” he said. “I thought, when I picked up the Quill, I finally had a chance to make things right. To fix things. But since this is a non-magic world…”

“It didn't work.”

Henry shook his head. “I spent so much time going through that book…Looking for the Author, pulling apart every page, dissecting every word…I thought if I found him, I could fix everything. And then when I held the Quill, and I felt all that _power,_ I just…” 

“Power is tempting,” Rumple said hesitantly. “But like magic, it always comes with a price. There’s always consequences.”

“I know, but—” Henry exhaled, dropping his head. “Once I realized I couldn't write him back, that’s when it really hit me that he’s gone. I’m never going to see him again. I’m never going to talk to him again. He’s just gone.” He glanced over his shoulder at Rumple, who was watching him warily. “I don’t care about the power. I never wanted to control things or manipulate them, I just…” His voice broke. “I just wanted to save my dad.”

Rumple knit his brow. “Henry…”

“I just wish Emma wanted to save him as much as she wanted to save Hook,” he said in a rush. “I might have actually gotten somewhere. Instead, I just wasted my time.”

“Well…” Rumple hovered on his feet, a small frown building on his face. “Maybe not.”

Henry crinkled his brow. “What do you mean?”

“I’m in a— ” Rumple tilted his hand back and forth, shrugging—“a delicate situation with Miss Swan right now. She has me in a position where I can’t refuse her demands. So I don’t have a choice: whether I like it or not, I’m included in this mission to rescue the pirate from the Underworld. From our first steps through the portal to our last steps out, Miss Swan will be watching me like a hawk.” He paused, looking at Henry carefully. “But our deal only extends as far as the pirate is concerned. She said nothing about Baelfire…or you.”

Henry let out a humorless laugh. “Big surprise.”

“No, Henry…don’t you see?” Rumple twitched a smile, as though he couldn't help himself; a strange fire lighting up his eyes. “The Underworld is a place for souls with unfinished business. Hook may be there, but so is Bae. And I may be commissioned on this ridiculous rescue mission for our dearly departed Captain, but that doesn't stop you from—”

“Finding Dad.” Henry straightened up. staring at him with wide eyes. It had been one thing, to hear Emma talk about the Underworld and fantasize about bringing his father’s soul back; but to hear Rumple talk about it like it was an impending reality, as though it were fully within the realm of possibility…it took his breath away. It was almost terrifying because for this first time, he wasn't alone in this. He wasn't carrying the full weight on his shoulders; he wasn't the only one working on saving Neal. He was a teenage kid with severe emotional trauma and no support—how much could he really manage on his own?

But with Rumple on his side…

“It could work,” Henry said in amazement. “Grandpa—we could do this.”

Rumple nodded. “We _will_ do this,” he said. “I spent two centuries searching for my son across worlds. The Underworld?” He shrugged dismissively. “Just another world to search through.”

“And if there’s one thing my family does, it’s find each other.” Henry smiled. “Find each other, and bring them home.”


	3. Chapter 3

_Footsteps, voices murmuring back and forth, the creak of wood as the door opened and closed_ …

Belle stirred sleepily, shifting under the covers, as the muffled noises from the shop below traveled upstairs to the loft. With a small groan, she pushed herself up; rubbing her eyes, she glanced around. Moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting a pale glow to the room, tingeing the dark wood silver. Rumple’s side of the bed was empty; his suit jacket missing from its usual place on the desk chair. 

Belle frowned, pulling on a robe as she swung her legs out of bed. She padded across the room and slipped through the door, pausing at the top of the stairs to listen. There was only one set of footsteps moving around now, so whoever Rumple had been talking to was gone. 

With a certain amount of trepidation, she moved down the stairs. It seemed every time she turned her back, Rumple slipped out of sight: she could never close her eyes without wondering if she would open them to him or an empty room. He was constantly in and out of shadows, living between secrets. Centuries of being the Dark One had carefully honed his universal mistrust in all people, and he still struggled with letting his guard down around even her.

“Rumple?” Belle kept her voice low, making sure not to startle him. He was standing at his desk, bent over something. His tool case was out, filled with slender miniature screwdrivers enclosed in velvet casing; and his magnifying glass was carefully adjusted to his task. 

She stepped over to him, lightly wrapping her arms around his waist. “Rumple,” she murmured into his hair. “Are you all right?”

“Of course,” he replied, somewhat distractedly. “Why?”

Belle glanced down at the pocket watch he was tinkering with, opened to expose the gears and ticks inside. _Why do you spin so much?_ she’d asked him once. _I like to watch the wheel,_ had been the thoughtful reply. Wheels, mechanics, detailed work…it seemed to relax him in a way that nothing else could. It put his restless mind to a task that required all his attention and focus, banishing whatever else was plaguing his mind. 

“You seem worried,” she said finally. 

“I’m not worried,” Rumple said, looking up from his work. He turned around, smiling somewhat wearily. “I’m fine.”

Belle looked at him for a moment. “Who was here?” she asked. “I heard voices.”

“Miss Swan was here earlier…and then, Henry only just left a few minutes a go.” A shadow passed over Rumple’s face, and he clenched his jaw. “Actually, there is something I’m a bit worried about, now that I think of it.”

He took her hand, turning it over between his. “Last night…Hook turned Excalibur on himself in attempt to destroy the Darkness. No doubt he considered it a great act of nobility,” he added, flicking his eyes in derision, “but nonetheless, the pirate succeeded in exchanging his life to remove the Darkness.”

Belle knit her brow, noticing his hesitation. “Did something go wrong?” she asked. “Didn’t it work?”

“Oh, it worked,” Rumple said with a mirthless smile. “Hook is no longer tethered to the Darkness.” He let go of her hand to reach into his inside pocket, drawing out…

Belle stared with wide eyes, covering her hands over her mouth. _The dagger._

There it was, folded in Rumple’s thin hands: the cursed blade. The jagged, sharp steel that burned with power, that had trapped Rumple’s soul for so long…That once again bore the name _Rumplestiltskin._

“No,” Belle whispered, shaking her head. “Rumple…”

“I am the Dark One again,” he said quietly.

She lifted her head, eyes full of anguish. A muscle jumped in his jaw, and he swallowed, dropping his eyes again.

“I only had a precious few moments when the Darkness was still moving, but I called to it. I was its home for so long, it…seemed to recognize me. It found its way back, and I trapped it back in the dagger, sealing it with my soul…and becoming the Dark One again.” Rumple raised his eyes, looking at her with a world of regret and desperation in his gaze. Belle felt her heart crumple beneath it. 

“Belle, I’m sorry,” he pleaded. “I-I know what it looks like, but I can explain—”

“ _Explain?_ ” Belle cried, throwing her arms out. “How can you possibly explain this? Was it for the power, Rumple? Was that what it was? Do you need it so desperately that you would take away our one chance to be rid of the Darkness forever? So you wouldn't lose your precious magic?”

“Listen to me! Belle, please—” Rumple took her wrists, looking at her desperately. “The Darkness…It’s not a living thing, It can’t die. Sending It to the Underworld wouldn't accomplish anything, because It would only find some way to return. And It could come back as something we don’t know how to handle or control—s-something that would be beyond our capabilities. At least this way, It’s safe in a form that we know how to deal with.”

“Know how—? _What_ are you _talking_ about?” Belle sputtered. “Rumple, you’re not making sense!”

“The world is always going to be caught between light and dark,” he said. “It can’t exist without good and evil struggling against each other, it needs the balance. Hook thought he was banishing the Darkness, but all he was doing was inviting It to take another form in our world.” Rumple looked at her intently, gripping her wrists a little tighter. “Darkness will always find its way back. Always. I only did what I did to keep It in a form I knew how to manage.”

She eyed him skeptically, stepping back: God, she _wanted_ to believe him. Rumple had his weaknesses, certainly; but living out from under the dagger’s influence for that brief time had shown him that the man he wanted to be for her—for Bae—was in there.

Rumple relaxed his hold on her, but kept his hands circled around her wrists, pleading silently with his eyes. “I wasn’t going to tell you at first,” he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. “That’s why Emma was here. She could feel the dagger’s power again, and when she learned I was the Dark One, she meant to use it against me. She…” He bit down on his lip, hesitating. “She threatened to tell you. Said she was going to let you see the man I truly was, unless I helped her with her latest endeavor.”

Belle felt her heart drop into her stomach. “Latest endeavor?”

“The Underworld.” Rumple drew in a steadying breath. “She means to retrieve Hook’s soul. And I agreed.”

Her shoulders sagged. “Oh, _Rumple_ …”

“I was afraid, Belle,” he said desperately. “The dagger has always been the one thing that can keep us apart, and I was afraid it would happen again. So I agreed to it. But then…Henry walked in.” A reminiscent look drifted into his eyes, the faintest of smiles on his lips. “He looks so much like his father.”

Belle pressed her lips against the small sob in the back of her throat. 

“I looked at him…and I remembered my boy. He reminds me of Bae so much, I felt as though it was him standing before me again. And I remembered every promise I made that I broke, and I realized, _I could not do it again._ I swore before my son’s grave that I was going to be a better man; that I would never again choose power before my family. I know, I’ve lost my way, but I’m…” He looked at her determinedly. “I’m done with that, Belle. Yes, I _am_ the Dark One again. But I didn't do this for myself. It wasn't as difficult a struggle as I would have liked it to be, but in the end, I did this for the right reasons. And I’m trying to be honest with you, so you know…it wasn't for the power. Not this time.”

Belle looked at him for a long time. There was such earnestness, such desperation in his eyes…He was a man who had lost so much, who was so afraid to lose more. Knowing his past, she would have been more skeptical of his pleas…but knowing _him?_ She hoped it wasn't just her love for him blinding her, but she was certain she could see the truth in his eyes.

After another minute, she threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly. “Oh, Rumple,” she breathed. 

“I’m sorry, Belle, I—I didn’t want it to be like this again, but I—”

“I know.” She pulled back, smiling at him tearfully, gripping both his hands in hers. “We’ll get through this. Okay?”

Rumple smiled back weakly. “I hope.”

Belle nodded, though she didn't feel nearly as brave as she sounded. “So, what happens now?” she asked. “If Emma can’t hold this against you anymore, that means you don’t have to go to the Underworld.”

“No, I do, actually,” Rumple said. “For Henry.”

“Henry?” Belle frowned. “What do you—?”

“Baelfire.”

Just that single word held all the explanation she needed. Her eyes widened, and she stared at Rumple, struggling for words. “He—he wants— _is it possible?_ ”

“It won’t be easy, but if there’s a way to save Hook, there’s a way to save Bae. And I may no longer be under Emma’s threats, but I’m still going to the Underworld. Henry’s a clever boy, but he’s only a child, he can’t do this alone.” A small smile graced his lips. “He needs his grandfather.”

Belle raised her eyebrows. “And me?” she asked, daring him to deny her. She could already see the hesitation in his eyes.

“Belle…”

“Rumple, if you think I’m going to let you and Henry travel to the Underworld without me, you’ve truly reached a new level of madness.” Belle dropped his hands, folding her arms determinedly. “I’m coming with you.”

“It’s dangerous—”

“Exactly.”

“Belle, I need you to—”

“Come with you.”

“ _No._ ” 

“I’m not asking permission.”

“Belle,” he exhaled exasperatedly. 

“ _Rumple._ ” Belle set her jaw, looking at him with a steely gaze. “You have left me behind, time after time after time. I’m not going to be left behind again.”

Her heart still ached from Neverland, when he had left her behind with the ominous warning that he would not be returning. She couldn't survive that again; furthermore, she refused to even _try_ to survive it again. Her whole life, she’d been seeking adventure, looking for some way to make her mark on the world, and here was an opportunity falling right into her hands.

But this was more than an adventure: this was a matter of protecting and reuniting her family. And there was nothing in this world or the next that could keep her from it.

Rumple must have read that in her eyes, for he gave a defeated little sigh. “Very well,” he said. “Be ready—the portal opens at the moon’s peak tonight.”


	4. Chapter 4

He burst through the loft door, determinedly ignoring the stares that followed him as he pounded up the steps.

“Henry?” Emma called after him. “Henry, wait!”

He gritted his teeth at the sound of her boots following him, sickened by the anxiousness in her voice. She had _no_ right to be pretend to be concerned about him: after everything she put him through—everything he’d _been_ through, in general—he deserved more respect than that. 

He threw his backpack on the bed and started shoving things in unceremoniously. The door creaked open behind him, but he ignored it, choosing instead to cross the room and start ripping random objects off the shelves. He hoped he looked busy: he hadn't the slightest idea how to prepare for the Underworld, but he sure as hell wasn't going to confide that in _her._

 _“_ Henry.”

Henry frowned at the sound of Snow’s voice, and turned around. “Grandma?”

Snow lifted her eyebrows, offering him a weary smile. “Not expecting me,” she guessed, slowly walking over. “Thought I was Emma?”

Henry made a noise of disgust, and turned back to the shelves. 

“You’re angry.” Snow sighed, and sank down onto the bed. “I get that.”

“Great,” Henry said shortly. “I’m so glad you understand, that makes everything better.”

“I _do_ understand. Henry—sit down, talk to me.”

“I’m busy,” he muttered. 

“Henry.” She reached forward, gently pulling his elbow to bring him to a seat beside her. Henry flicked his eyes, but didn’t resist her efforts: he dropped onto the bed, still holding the book he’d had in his hands. 

Snow put her hand on his shoulder, tilting her head to look at him. Her eyes were full of sympathy, full of love…It hurt to see someone look at him like that, so he shifted his eyes to stare at the book.

 _The_ book.

Henry clenched his jaw, looking at the dulled gold scroll: _Once Upon A Time._ Every story, every legend…every mark of history in his family’s world, bound between two covers. He’d carried it around for years, clinging to it as his only reassurance of sanity. But as the years passed and curses unraveled, the book had become more than a means of guidance: it was a living soul, and a manipulative one at that. Fate was written on every page. When he’d first picked up the Author’s Quill, a thousand voices had rushed in his ears; a fire building in his chest as the Quill had burst with a beam of light, christening him as Its new owner. He had felt so _visible._ The power it had given him…the feeling of invincibility?

_This is how it must feel to be the Dark One._

That was the moment—when that thought had come into his mind—that was the moment he realized that the Author was a much a slave to the Quill as the Dark One was to the dagger. And the moment he learned that he couldn't write his father back to life, was the moment he decided, the price of being the Author wasn't worth the power. He’d destroyed the Quill, buried the book, and hadn't seen either, since. 

“I remember when I gave this to you,” Snow said quietly, reaching forward to brush her fingers along the cover. “You were such a lonely little boy. So sad…Lost, even.” She paused. “Do you remember what I told you?”

Henry shrugged. “I don't know…Something about hope?” 

Snow gave an amused _hmph._ “Yeah,” she said. “Something about hope.” She caressed the worn corners of the book, smiling faintly. “Life will get better if we just hold onto hope. Happy endings aren't always what we think, but—”

“Stop.” Henry closed his eyes, clenching his teeth. “Just stop. Don’t talk to me about hope.” 

“Henry—”

“I told you, I’m busy.” He got up, dropping the book; stepping over it as he returned to the shelves. 

“What are you doing?” 

“What’s it look like? I’m packing.” Henry half-turned, raising an eyebrow at her. “Shouldn’t you be?”

“For what?” Snow frowned.“I’m not going to the Underworld.”

The words seemed to hit the floor with a _thud!:_ they echoed in his ears, his mind struggling to absorb them. There was something utterly inconceivable about Snow _not_ going on a quest, regardless of how dangerous or ill-thought-out it was. 

“You’re…?” Henry blinked, and gave his head a little shake. “You’re not going to the Underworld?”

“Of course not.”

He stared at her, almost certain he’d imagined it. “But—I thought…E-Emma said—”

“I know what Emma said,” Snow interrupted. “And I know she’s upset and she doesn't know what to do with herself, but that doesn't change the fact that I can’t abandon this town again. This is my kingdom, Henry. These people fought for me; risked their lives for me; followed me, even when things looked completely hopeless and we were all headed for certain death. They never once abandoned me, and I’ve poorly returned the favor.”

She looked at him, the hard set of her jaw giving way to a tremble; she dropped her eyes, knitting her fingers together. “It’s time for David and I to be leaders again,” she said quietly. “Our people need us, now more than ever. We narrowly escaped being dragged to _Hell_ by a man who was the most vicious Dark One I’ve ever seen. They need to rebuild, they need to heal. They need someone to show them how, and that’s _my_ responsibility. And more than that…I have a son.” Her voice shook, breaking into a helpless little whisper. “I have an _infant son._ And in the three months he’s been alive, he’s spent more time with the nuns and Belle than he has with his parents. I don’t—I can’t do this, I _can’t._ ”

Henry twisted his hands around each other, staring at her wordlessly. He didn't know how to process this, he’d just assumed… “Uh…wow,” he said finally. “That’s…that’s really…Wow.”

“I can’t stop Emma from going,” Snow said, her eyes still lowered to her hands. “That’s who she is. It took her so long to find a family…I think she has to fight for whoever she has.” She gave a little shrug. “Even him, I guess.”

 _He’s_ not _her family,_ Henry thought immediately, but he kept his mouth shut: Snow didn't seem to think much of Emma’s judgment, either.

“You don’t have to go, you know.” Snow lifted her head, looking up at him. “You’re not going to be alone, if you stay behind. I know you don’t want to leave your mother, but Regina is more than capable of protecting her, and if you stay, you have me and David and—”

“That’s not why I’m going,” Henry interrupted. “I’m not going with Emma, I’m going with Grandpa. Rumplestiltskin, I mean.” He paused, gauging her already-shocked reaction. “I’m going to save my dad.”

Snow’s eyes widened even more; she stammered silently, shaking her head. “H-Henry,” she managed after a minute. “You—you can’t be—”

“I am,” he said flatly. “You can’t stop Emma, but you can’t stop me, either. I was desperate for a family my entire life, too, so I’m going to fight for whoever _I’ve_ got.”

“But _Rumplestiltskin?_ The _Underworld?_ Henry, you’re thirteen years old—!”

“Fourteen. The same age you were when you ran away from home and started living as an outlaw.” Henry folded his arms, looking at her staunchly. “And I trust Rumple. Whatever he’s done to you, he’s only ever tried to protect me—if not for my sake, then for Neal’s. So if there’s anyone I’m going to trust to come with me to the Underworld to rescue him, it’s Rumple.”

Snow looked at him anxiously, biting her lip. He could almost see the hurricane of thoughts racing through her mind, trying to figure some way to talk him out of it. 

“Look…” she said finally. “I know what you’re going through. I-I lost both of my parents when I was young, and I would have done anything—”

“Good. Then you understand that, I’m not going to change my mind, no matter what you say.”

“Let me finish,” Snow said, holding up her hand. “I would have done anything, but using dark magic? Henry,you _know_ magic always comes with a price—”

“And I’ve already paid it!” Henry shouted. “I’ve been paying the price of everyone else’s magic my entire life! Do you understand that? I didn't _have_ any parents! All I had a mother who taught me everything I thought or felt was the result of some kind of mental illness! Regina’s curse, Emma’s destiny, your whole world—it cost me a normal life, it cost me a family, and you know something? I’m taking what I can get.”

With that, he turned on his heel, leaving her to stare after him as he started ripping random things off the shelf and shoving them in his backpack. _Please leave,_ please _leave,_ he thought, telepathically begging Snow to get out of the room. He didn't think he could take another lecture on hope or family or the price of magic, and that seemed to be where her mind was headed. 

He’d been through far too many disappointments and tragedies to have much belief left for hope. He’d seen life fail him too many times to truly think that holding onto the possibility of a happy ending was powerful enough to find one. Right now, he was operating on the basic knowledge that he didn't just _want_ his father back: he _needed_ him. The same way he knew when he was ten years old, hopping a bus to Boston, that he _needed_ to find his birth mother. The same way he knew he _needed_ to get her to believe. That need—that powerful, hungry, dominating need—drowned out whatever self-doubt and hopelessness the past few years had given him, but Snow’s _inspiring words_ were meaningless. 

“Is there nothing I can say to change your mind?” Snow asked, but with a resigned sigh, as if she already knew the answer.

“Nothing.”

“It’s dangerous. And I know you think…” 

Henry turned with a frown as her voice trailed off. “Grandma?” he said, noticing the confused look on her face. “Grandma, what’s wrong?”

She raised her hand, pointing behind him. “What is that?” she said. “That little bit of light over there, what is it?”

“What light?” He looked over his shoulder, following her line of vision to a small pile of hoodies hanging off the door with a tiny beam of light peeking out rom underneath. “What the…?”

He swung the hoodies off in one swift motion, revealing the source of the light underneath: _the dreamcatcher._ Henry frowned, slowly picking up the netted wooden circle that had once held his memories from Camelot. A golden bead of light clung to the center, pulsing with the energy of…a memory?

But that didn't make any sense…Hadn’t he already had all his memories returned to him?

Not this one, apparently. Henry turned it over in his hands, marveling at it. “I don’t—”

The door burst open, startling him and Snow: Emma walked into the room, looking anxious. “Henry,” she began. “Please, can I just talk—?”

“No,” Henry said flatly, snatching up his backpack and throwing it over one shoulder. He tossed the dreamcatcher in and shoved past Emma, shrugging away as she tried to reach for him.

“Henry, _please—_ ”

Henry ignored her and pounded down the steps; he stalked through the kitchen, barely glancing at the other three as they half-rose from their chairs.

“Where are you going?” Regina asked as he swung the door open. “Henry?”

“Out,” he said over his shoulder. “I’ve got my phone, I’ll see you later.”

He slammed the door before she could respond and made his way down the building stairs as fast as he could without tripping. Too many things to think about to deal with them or Emma’s asinine pleas: the Underworld was already more than enough to occupy his mind, but now there was also the new memory in the dreamcatcher. 

Who had taken it from him? 

_Who had been inside his head?_

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

The moon hung heavily in the night sky, lighting the river bank with pulsing, white beams. Belle felt her heart thrum nervously in her chest, and gripped Rumple’s hand a little more tightly. She was more than determined to follow Rumple to the ends of this world, and the next…but that didn't make her any less nervous about the prospect of venturing into the Underworld, surrounded by the Dead.

There was a way out, wasn't there?

Now that she was actually out from behind the four walls and stepping into the real world of danger and risk, she felt rather like a lost child: alone, frightened, looking with wide fearful eyes at the threatening darkness around her. Death lingered in every corner; whispers seemed to follow her; she fancied she saw glowing yellow eyes gleaming at her from the shadows. This was not one of her books, where she could simply close the cover and hide it on the shelf. This was real life, and there was no turning back. She’d made her choice, and now she was starting to question—

“It’s time.” 

Belle stepped back as Rumple let go of her hand and walked to the edge of the river, drawing out a small blade from his jacket. “The entrance to the Underworld is not accessible to mortals,” he said, sliding the blade carefully across his hand. “It reveals itself only to those who have stepped foot on its shores. Now, usually…” He grimaced as he opened his hand to let the blood drip into the icy gray river. “Usually, this is exactly what keeps living souls from entering. However, we are in the fortunate position to have a resurrected soul, and immortal one for good measure, amongst us.” 

Henry moved his eyes between Rumple and the river, clutching the strap of his backpack with white fingers. The nervous energy seemed to lift off him in a cloud that pervaded the air, mingling with the mist that hung over the river.

“Now what?” he asked hoarsely. “Did it work?”

“Patience, lad,” Rumple said, pushing himself back up to a stand. “We’ll see soon enough.”

“Soon enough?” Emma repeated. “What do you mean, soon enough? Did it work, or didn't it?”

“I don’t make a habit of trekking through the Underworld,” Rumple said through gritted teeth. “So, at the present moment, _I don’t know._ All we can do is wait.” 

He folded his hands over each other and narrowed his eyes to look through the mist, apparently waiting for something to happen. Belle followed his line of vision, trying to think what kind of sign he was waiting for. From what she remembered, the Styx guarded the passage to the Underworld, and the Styx was guarded by…

“The ferryman,” she said suddenly.

A tall, cloaked figure emerged from behind the mist, pushing a draconian raft with a long staff. His face was hidden behind the shadow of his hood, but Belle could see skeletal, white hands gripping the staff. Slow…steady…He moved across the river like a snake after its prey, winding his way toward the fools who’d had the poor sense to call him. 

Belle caught her breath as the raft drifted to a halt and the ferryman slowly raised his head. 

_You have summoned me._

He didn't speak, but somehow they all heard him. It was a dry, rasping, scraping voice, like the creak of a coffin. Beside her, Henry shifted nervously between his feet.

“Henry?” she whispered.

“What?”

“It’s going to be okay.”

Henry nodded, though he looked rather unconvinced. _Empty words will have that effect,_ Belle thought with a sigh. They really were empty words. How did she know whether or not it was going to be okay? They were standing before the mouth of _Hell_ : if there was any time for things to _not_ be okay, this was it.

Rumple stepped forward, his jaw set in a grim line. “You will give us passage to the Underworld?” 

 _I will,_ the ferryman nodded. _But I will give you more than that. I will also give you advice._

Belle sensed him smiling beneath his hood: a smile full of maggots and rotting teeth. 

_The Underworld is for the Dead; the Living do not belong. Just as this world is for the Living, and the Dead do not belong. I know what is in your heart, Henry Mills._

Henry turned white, stumbling back. Belle caught him with shaky fingers to break his fall, but she could barely keep herself upright. 

_I know what is in your heart, boy. And I give you this warning: you will succeed. You will find your father’s spirit. But there will be a terrible price, and you will suffer for it. You will know pain and loss and despair. All of you will._

The ferryman turned his head, resting his hidden eyes on Emma. _Emma Swan. There is so much you don’t know. You have been blind. It it time to recover your sight._

The ferryman turned his head once more to Rumple. _And Rumplestiltskin…_ A quiet laugh behind the malice. _Rumplestiltskin will be tested. Again. And again. And again. Welcome to Hell, my lord._

He gave a mocking bow, sending chills up Belle’s spine. 

Hell, indeed.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

_He slowly cracked his eyes open, his vision blurred…focusing… almost clear. Sawdust and rain mingled in the air, drifting in the wind that swept lazily over the gray water. The mist curled around wooden frame of the shambled playground, wrapping its white fingers around the beams._

_His castle._

_This couldn't be real, it just—it wasn't possible. This place didn't even exist anymore; it was a thing of the past, a faded memory. Regina had destroyed it, she’d torn it down and replaced it years ago. And yet, somehow he was sitting on the too-familiar wooden planks: his leg reached down much farther than they had before, but it was the same. It had the bottle-shaped stain in its old place; the long splinter where he’d once thrown the book as hard as he could in a fit of righteous, ten-year-old fury; the view of the ocean with the lighthouse in the foggy distance, which had inspired daydreams of pirates and mermaids before he knew better._

_“Henry?”_

_He whirled around, his heart beating wildly. No, it couldn't be him; he couldn't be here, he hadn't seen him since… it couldn't be._

_But there he was, leaning against the frame with folded arms, grinning at him with that infectious smile, his warm eyes crinkled up like he was on the verge of laughter. Henry stared at him, hardly breathing._

_“D-dad?” he managed, choking out the word._

_“It’s me.” Neal grinned at him; then lifted his eyes, looking around the playground with mild interest. “So… this is your castle, huh?” He walked around, brushing his fingers along the beams, studying the roof with an appraising eye. “You used to come here a lot?”_

_“Yeah,” Henry said, his voice still unsteady with the rush of emotion building in his throat. “It was my… my sanctuary, I guess. Before the curse broke.”_

_Neal nodded. “Sometimes, life was just a little too much to handle.”_

_“It still feels like that.” Henry dropped his eyes and folded his hands together, frowning against the tears that threatened in the back of his throat. The planks creaked as Neal sat down next to him with a sigh._

_“I know these last couple months have been hard for you,” he said at last. “I hate that you had to go through that…feeling as alone you did.”_

_“I_ was _alone,” Henry whispered. “She doesn't care about me anymore, Dad. She pretends to, but she doesn’t. All she thinks about—”_

_“Hey,” Neal said gently, touching his shoulder. “Your mom cares about you, Henry. Don’t do that to yourself.”_

_“But it’s true!” Henry insisted. “I-I’m nothing to her! She doesn't see me, none of them see me! I feel like…” He shook his head, continuing on in a broken little voice. “I feel the same way I did when I used to come here. Like everyone else is living in a completely different reality, and I’m just on the outside screaming, but no one can hear me.”_

_Neal was quiet for a moment. “Henry…” he said hesitantly. “There’s a reason why nothing makes sense now. Everyone chalks it up to grieving and curses, but no one realizes how easy that makes it to cover tracks. No one’s looking for a more sensical explanation, so no one sees what’s right in front of them.”_

_Henry frowned. ”What are you talking about?” he asked. “Right in front of us—what does that mean?”_

_“The dreamcatcher,” Neal said, looking at him intently. “You have to use the dreamcatcher.”_

_“Why can’t you just tell  me?” Henry pressed._

_“I can’t.”_

_“Why not? Dad—”_

_“I’m not really here,” he said gently, giving him a sad. “This isn't real, Henry—not quite.”_

_His heart sank, crumbling to dust that settled in the pit of his stomach. “So, this is all in my head?”_

_“Kind of. Not exactly, but… Look, it’s hard to explain. I can tell you this, though.” Neal braced his hand on Henry’s shoulder, looking at him almost wistfully. “You’re close, Henry; you’re so close. You_ will _see me again, and soon. But I have to warn you… there’s a lot more at play here than you know. You have to make sure this is something you want, because there’s a price. There always is with magic.”_

_“I’ll pay it,” Henry said instantly. “I don’t care what I have to do, I’m getting you back.”_

_“You think that now, but you may change your mind.”_

_“I won’t.”_

_“Just wait until you know what that price is before you make your decision.”_

_Henry shook his head. “I’m not changing my mind,” he said. “I’ve been trying to find a way to bring you back for so long. I tried to find the Author—I tried to write you back myself. I’ll do whatever it takes.” He swallowed hard, blinking furiously. “I_ need _you, okay?”_

_“I know.” Neal smiled sadly, and passed his hand over Henry’s hair. “We didn't get enough time,” he said. “There’s so much I wanted to tell you… But there was never enough time.” He let out a sigh, and abruptly stood up. “There still isn’t.”_

_“Dad?” Henry pushed himself up as Neal turned around. “Wait—where are you going? Dad?”_

_“It’s time for you to wake up, Henry,” Neal called over his shoulder, disappearing further into the white mist. “Remember the dreamcatcher.”_

_“Wait!” Henry said desperately, running after him. But it seemed the further he ran, the faster Neal disappeared. “Dad, please! Don’t leave! DAD!”_

_He stopped, helplessly watching his father’s shadow vanish into the white cloud; finally letting the tears spill from his eyes. “Please,” he whispered. “Don’t leave me again.”_

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

 

**PLEASE NOTE: I didn't watch 5B, so don’t expect me to follow it that much or the characters they introduced. For example, Hades: I have no idea what OUAT’s Hades was like or his personality, but no one I talked to was very impressed, so I just made it up my own. For our purposes, you can imagine him being played by Idris Elba, because that would be the actual best.**

* * *

 

 

The boat bumped against the bank of gray-white sand, sending up a small rush of icy water. Belle looked around breathlessly, her heart going still. She had read entire libraries about other worlds; had studied the darkest legends by candlelight, devoured ancient scrolls on black magic alongside her cup of tea. She had read upon a thousand versions of the Devil, the Lord of Death, the Great Sorrow; she had pored over depictions of the Underworld and the agonized faces of the Damned. 

This was different. 

This was real.

She was walking into the pages of one of her books, her boots making small marks in the sand as she trailed after Rumple. The ferryman silently slid away, disappearing into the darkness, as they made their way up the bank.

“Oh, my God,” Emma breathed. “This is really it, isn't it?”

Her voice echoed off the cavernous walls, hitting each craggy rock and ricocheting into the darkness. A quiet rumbling swelled beneath the ground, a thin line cracking the middle. Belle gripped Rumple’s arm as the earth started to shake; the crack spread more rapidly, growing and branching off into smaller ones as the shaking intensified. 

“ _Is this really it?”_ a man’s voice boomed amidst the sound of rocks shattering and crashing to the ground, the rumbling beneath the earth nearly deafening. “ _IS THIS REALLY IT?”_

All at once, everything fell silent: the rocks stopped, leaving nothing but a curtain of dust in their wake. A man’s shadow formed behind it: slightly too tall for a normal man; slender but solid; imposing, to be sure. Belle’s hand found Rumple’s, though she couldn't tear her eyes away as the dust settled to reveal a dark, suited man with shrewd eyes smirking at them.

“Is this really it?” he repeated for the third time, his voice smooth and quiet now. He spread his hands, a gold watch glinting on his left wrist, as he walked around, laughing quietly. “Is this really it?” 

He drifted to a stop, letting out a sigh as his eyes—gold, with catlike pupils, Belle noted with a start—rested on the group. “Well, well, look at you,” he murmured. “So far from home, little humans.”

Emma stepped forward, her hand on her belt where her holster usually hung. “Are you Hades?” she said, trying and failing to sound determined. “This is the Underworld, isn't it?”

Hades’ eyes gleamed. “Yes, my dear, this _is_ the Underworld,” he said, not bothering to hide his amusement. “You must be Emma Swan, the Savior I…actually haven't heard enough about.” He clasped his hands behind his back, circling her slowly as he considered her. “You haven't been doing much saving, have you? Funny—most of what you do requires _more_ saving to be had.” He tsked, a wry smile spreading on his face. “You’re really not very good at this.”

Emma tensed her jaw, her eyes sliding to the side as she followed his movements. “If you’re just going to waste my time, mocking me—”

“There’s a very good chance of that,” Hades said swiftly. “Does that change your plans, any?”

Emma looked at him with narrowed eyes, the resolve setting in the dull green irises. “No,” she said. “I came here for a reason, and I’m not leaving—”

“Until you walk away, hand in hook, with your beloved pirate,” Hades finished in a bored voice. “Oh, Emma, how tragically predictable you’ve become. All fired up, and nowhere to go.”

“Nowhere to….?” Emma’s brow twitched with worry. “He is _here,_ isn't he?”

“Of course, my dear. He’s dead.” Hades spread his arms, a pleasant smile on his face. “And this is where the dead belong. Killian Jones has been clever enough to escape this realm for two hundred years, but I’ve always been a patient man. I have his soul, I am content. So your presence almost baffles me. If not…” He slowly raised a slender finger, pointing at her shrewdly. “If not for your reputation.”

“My reputation?” Emma repeated, raising an eyebrow. 

“Yes,” Hades purred. “Your reputation. I’ve not heard as much about you as I should have, but from what I _do_ hear, you’ve got a penchant for hopeless rescue missions. You surround yourself with people far more talented and skilled than you, going after a nigh impossible goal, until you succeed—at whoever’s expense, it matters little… _so long as Emma Swan gets what she wants._ ”

Emma stepped back, startled. “I don’t—”

“Enough.” Hades raised his hand, all traces of amusement vanishing from his voice. He glowered at Emma with cold eyes, and shook his head. “You have sent me more innocent souls than you have any right to, Miss Swan,” he hissed. “And now you invade my kingdom, intent on claiming one of _my_ souls for your own?”

He snapped his head so suddenly, Belle let out a little gasp. Hades ignored her, his golden glaring eyes fixated on Henry. “And you, boy,” he rumbled. “You seek your father’s spirit. You mean to find him and to bring him back with you to the world of the Living.” His eyes saddened, with a grief so deep, it broke Belle’s heart. “I cannot help you, and for that I am sorry. But I will not stop you. If you can find him, he is yours.”

Henry inhaled sharply, locking his knees to keep from stumbling. Belle stared in amazement, her eyes darting between the two of them: Hades, the mournful god, gazing at a bewildered Henry, clutching his backpack for support. Why Hades was granting Henry mercy and not Emma, Belle wasn't entirely sure: Henry hadn't committed the sins of his mothers, but Neal was still one of the Dead. Shouldn't Hades be just as intent on keeping him as Hook?

“I will tell you this,” Hades said, breaking the silence with his quiet growl. “That little memory you have trapped in your net can help you far more than I can. There are greater forces than Death, young Henry, and they want you to succeed. But—” he raised a finger—“you must find your way out of my Labyrinth. I cannot help you, it is the Law of the Underworld. But remember your dreamcatcher: it will help you where I cannot.”

He stepped back, surveying the group at large. His eyes rested briefly on Rumple, a flash of recognition sparking in them, but he said nothing and simply moved his gaze onto Regina and Robin. 

“Six of the Living,” he murmured, almost to himself. “One marked for Death, and one…” He flicked his eyes toward Belle, locking on her frightened blue ones with an alarming intensity. “One marked for Life.”

 _What?_ Belle thought wildly, her heart thrumming furiously the longer Hades stared at her. Marked for Life? What did that _mean?_ And why was he staring at her, as though he expected some sort of reaction? Was she supposed to know what this meant?

Hades turned away, releasing her from his terrifying gaze; he swept his hand out toward the dark reaches of the cavern, a small wind stirring in the shadows. “Go,” he ordered. “The Underworld waits for you, Henry Mills. Those of you who follow do so under the condition that you will not hinder the boy’s mission.” He dropped his hand, turning back with a wry smile. “How the Underworld chooses to appear to you is of its own decision, but don’t be alarmed should you find yourself in familiar settings. And do not be fooled by the souls you see wandering through: many still believe they can return. They will try to trick you into promising them, but turn a deaf ear.”

He set his gaze on Henry’s once more, the solemnity making Belle’s heart clench with overwhelming sadness. “Find your father’s spirit, Henry,” Hades said quietly. “It is more important than you could ever hope to understand.”


	7. Chapter 7

It was home—except it wasn’t.

Everything seemed to be in some stage of decay, crumbling and fading to ruin. The clock tower was in half: a pile of bricks reaching hopelessly toward the heavens, the clock face itself shattered and laying broken at the base. The shops seemed abandoned, with wooden boards over the empty windows. Skeletal rodents and half-starved birds skittered over the dusty road, fluttered through the thick, musty air; a few lonely souls milled around the shadows, watching them with black, pupil-less eyes. 

Death clung to every crook, despair to every crevice. It was home, but soaked in misery, drenched in sorrow. But considering what “home” had become…

Yes. It was home.

Henry forced himself to stare straight ahead, ignoring the nausea rising his throat: he had to keep his focus on not only making it _through_ the Underworld, but making it _out;_ and getting distracted by shadows and dust would only make it harder.

It was hard enough, as it was, to focus with Hades’ words still  reverberating in his ear; his vague warnings and his vaguer advice becoming more of a  puzzle the longer they turned over in his head: _“That little memory you have trapped in your net can help you far more than I can. There are greater forces than Death, young Henry, and they want you to succeed.”_

It would have been reassuring…if it weren't so terrifying. Being visible to the powers that be, especially after he’d felt _in_ visible for so long, was the most terrifying thing he’d ever experienced.

“Where are we going?” he asked, talking more to distract himself from his thoughts than anything. Rumple had been leading them in silence, a grim set to his jaw: he seemed so certain of himself, so certain of where he was going, that no one had thought to question him. But Henry needed something to fill the silence now, and his grandfather’s voice seemed a good option. 

“My shop,” Rumple answered, not breaking his stride. “There may be something in there to help us find Bae, track down his soul…Perhaps my globe or a Locator potion.”

“You think all your stuff will be in there?” Henry frowned. 

“It might, it might not,” Rumple said. “I confess,  I don’t know all the rules. But whatever the situation, I doubt that _finding_ him will be the challenge. It’s the ‘escaping’ that gives me concern.”

Henry was silent for a moment, mulling over his words. “What will you do if there’s nothing in there?” he asked finally. 

“Then I will rely on you.” 

“On me?”

Rumple glanced at his surprised expression, and for the first timed, smiled slightly. “Henry, do you know how hopeless it seemed, tracking you down in Neverland? Do you know how many times the word _impossible_ haunted us?”

“But Neverland—”

“Neverland was as much a hell, as this place,” Rumple said, shaking his head. “Full of dangers and demons, nightmares coming to life…None of that, not even Death itself, can stand in the way of a parent’s love for their child. If we can’t find Bae, he will find you.”

Henry cracked half a smile, even as the backs of his eyes stung. Given everything that had happened, believing—which had once come so naturally to him—had been hard to muster. Rumple’s determination did far more for him, than his own heart could anymore. 

They continued in silence,  Rumple leading the train with Henry and Belle just a few steps behind; Emma in the middle; and Regina and Robin at the very end. Regina seemed poised for attack, her eyes narrowed in suspicion, shifting at every turned; no doubt prepared to conjure a fireball at the smallest sign of danger. 

Henry turned his gaze back to the front as yet another question struck him. “It’s weird, how still this place is, isn't it?” he muttered to Belle. “Shouldn’t there be more souls here? I mean, tons of people in the Enchanted Forest alone are dead, not to mention the rest of the universe—where _are_ they all?”

“Oh—” Belle waved her hand—“I’m sure there are plenty more than who we see. The Underworld is an infinite dimension, Henry: space doesn't really _exist_ here, this is all an illusion. And if I’m correct, we’re actually making our way through the Fields of Asphodel.” She glanced at Henry, smiling. “It’s basically limbo. Time is never-ending, and nothing ever changes: it’s _supposed_ to be still.”

“Asphodel?” Henry repeated. 

Belle nodded. “There are four parts to the Underworld: the Fields of Punishment, the Fields of Asphodel, Elysium, and the Isle of the Blessed. Asphodel is sort of a holding place for ordinary souls, as well as lost ones; those awaiting judgment; or those who have yet to accept their own deaths.”

“Lost souls.”

“Unresolved,” she clarified. “Unfinished business. Restless souls that cannot find peace.”

Henry started to nod, then stopped.. “Well, wait, go back to the Fields of Punishment,” he frowned. “Shouldn’t…? I mean, does Emma really think—?”

“I’ve no doubt the pirate is one of the many who refuses to accept his own demise,” Rumple scoffed, from ahead of them. “He was a parasite in life, why wouldn't he be in death?”

“ _Rumple_ ,” Belle admonished quietly; though she leaned in and whispered to Henry, “He’s right, though.”

Henry _hmph_ ed in amusement: Hook’s “moral reawakening" had always seemed more of an womanizing tactic to win Emma’s favor, than a genuine epiphany to him. Maybe because he’d seen two other once-villains truly try to redeem themselves, and he could spot a fake; maybe because Hook simply didn't care about trying to convince Henry. Either way, he’d never bought Hook’s “pirate-turned-hero” story, however easily Emma had fallen for it. 

She’d been very quiet, he realized: hadn't asked questions or argued with anything, just followed along blindly, with nothing but a worried expression on her face. Rumple must have noticed, too, because he caught Henry’s glances at her, and shook his head.

“She wasn't like that on Neverland,” he said, in a voice meant for Henry’s ears only. “Ask Regina, they were fighting incessantly, arguing about the best way to find you, how to get around Pan…She made herself the leader, so much so even Regina was willing to concede to her.”

“She’s so different now,” Henry said, looking back at Emma with more than a little heart break in his voice. “I don’t even recognize her.”

Rumple looked at him, opening his mouth as if he were prepared to say something, but he was interrupted by an woman’s incredulous voice: “ _Rumple?_ ”

He turned white, his eyes flaring with such rage, Henry flinched. His jaw clenched, making his words sound harsher and more poisonous as he muttered, “No…not her, _not_ her…”

“Who is it?” Belle frowned, lifting herself on her toes to see over his head. “Rumple, you know this woman?”

“Oh, far too well,” Rumple growled, stopping as the black-haired woman approached them. “Far. Too. _Well._ ”

She came to a halt, her blue eyes wide and staring: she seemed caught between fear and shock and anger, all at once. Henry frowned, looking between her and Rumple, trying to figure out who she could be.

“Rumple?” Belle asked, coming to his side. The woman followed her movements, her eyes narrowing as Belle’s hand touched his arm. “Rumple, what is it? Who is she?”

It was only one word, but it was a world of explanation: accounted for all the hatred, the trepidation, the tension that hung in the air like an icy cloud. More a name, than a word; more a curse, than a name. One that Henry recognized, that sent such a bolt of shock through him, he stumbled:

“ _Milah.”_


	8. Chapter 8

 

“I-I don’t understand.” Milah stepped forward, almost in a daze; staring at Rumple as though he were a disturbing hallucination. “How are you here? You’re alive.” Her gaze roamed briefly over the others, confusion mingling with growing fear. “All of you are.”

“Never you mind,” Rumple said through his teeth, his cold eyes still trained on her. “And let’s keep this reunion as brief as it is unpleasant. Excuse us.”

He moved to walk past her, but Belle caught his sleeve, stopping him. _“Wait,”_ she hissed. “We should at least talk to her, she might know something useful.”

“Like what?” Rumple muttered back with a scoff. “She’s nothing, Belle, just another lost soul wandering among the infinite hordes. She wouldn't know anything.”

“How do you know that?” Belle argued. “Rumple, come on! If you really want to find—”

“Baelfire?” Milah breathed, her voice trembling as she looked past them to where Henry was standing. Rumple froze, the blood draining from his face at the sound of his son’s name on Milah’s lips. Henry, startled by Milah’s attention, stepped back quickly, his eyes shifting around as though searching for some sort of direction.

“I-I’m not Baelfire,” he stammered. “My name’s Henry, I…” He swallowed hard, apparently losing the ability to speak as he stared at Milah, taking in the sight of the woman who had been responsible for so much pain and tragedy and heartbreak...but who, through her decision to abandon her child, had set off a course of events that made it possible for his existence _at all._ Without her, Baelfire would never have become “Neal Cassidy”; would never have fallen in love with Emma Swan; would never have had the son that stood before Milah now.

“Henry.” Milah blinked, and shook her head, an apologetic smile on her face. “I’m sorry… of course, you’re not, you just...you look like someone. From a long time ago.”

“I know,” Henry said. “I’m his son.”

Milah looked up incredulously. “His son?” she repeated, hardly above a whisper. “Bae...has a son?”

“ _Had,_ ” Rumple corrected flatly. “Baelfire is the reason any of us here, apart from Miss Swan. Who, incidentally-” he cleared his throat-- “has an alarming amount in common with you.” He smiled, somewhat maliciously, and gestured at a bewildered Emma. “This is Henry’s mother, you see: the woman Baelfire loved.” His eyes glinted as he watched Milah and Emma regard each other warily. “As did our mutual friend… one Mr. Killian Jones.”

Belle let out an exasperated sigh as the two women snapped their heads toward Rumple, wide-eyed and speechless, while he gave a satisfied little shrug. He was enjoying himself far too much right now, and she would have been tempted to put a stop to it, had she not thought that both Emma and Milah thoroughly deserved it.

“You mean to tell me…” Milah stared at Emma, as though she couldn’t quite believe the words coming out of her own mouth. “She’s been with both my son... _and_ my former lover?”

“Well, when you put it like that, it almost sounds disturbing!” Rumple said cheerfully. “What about you, Miss Swan? Thoughts?”

“I did love your son,” Emma said to Milah, her hands held out almost cautiously. “But he was an important part of my past. Killian is--”

“Also dead, and in the past, but who’s keeping track?” Rumple cut in with exaggerated pleasantness. “It’s really a lovely story, the epic romance between the two, whatwith all the dark magic and manipulation and sacrifice of others’ welfare--”

“Rumple,” Belle said sharply. “I rather think we’ve wasted enough time, don’t you?” She jutted her head toward Henry, who was looking deeply uncomfortable and shifting on his feet--though whether that was from impatience or desperation to simply _leave,_ she wasn’t sure. Rumple’s smile faded, and he nodded, silently agreeing with Belle that it was time to put the poor boy out of his misery and change the subject.

“Such things are not important when we have pressing matters to concern ourselves with,” he said, much sobered. “Baelfire’s soul has been trapped in limbo for too long already.”

Milah frowned, turning her head slowly to meet Rumple’s eyes. “Baelfire’s soul…” she said, half-fascinated. “You believe him to be here? In Asphodel?”

“I know he is,” Henry spoke up. “I saw him.”

What? Belle exchanged a wide-eyed look with Rumple, and whipped her head around to stare at Henry. “You saw him?” she said. “What do you mean, you saw him? When? Why didn't you say anything?”

“I didn’t _see_ him, see him—it was more like a vision or something,” Henry explained. 

“A vision?” Rumple frowned, stepping forward in intrigue. 

Henry nodded. “I thought it was a dream, at first, but it was…I don’t know.” He furrowed his brow, shaking his head slightly. “It felt real, like—like, he was actually there. Like I was actually talking to him.” He raised his eyes, looking at Rumple. “Is that possible?”

Rumple nodded slowly. “It is,” he said, and Belle could hear a weight in his words, a sure sign that his brilliant mind was already working at full capacity, pulling apart every detail and analyzing every piece. “We’re in something of a netherland…Much like the dreamworld, limbo is a fluid dimension. Your father would have found it much easier to pass through the barriers here than in the Living world.”

“So…it _was_ him?” Henry asked, looking cautiously hopeful. “He was really here?”

“I should think so,” Rumple said, though he didn't return Henry’s growing smile. “When did you say you saw him, Henry?”

“When we first got here,” Henry answered, raking a hand through his hair; the breathless smile on his face nearly breaking Belle’s heart. “He talked to me…Told me we were close…that I would see him again…” A small frown appeared on his face; he slowly lowered his hand, as if weighing his words carefully. 

“The dreamcatcher,” he said, more to himself than to Rumple. “He said…to remember the dreamcatcher.”

“Hades spoke of the dreamcatcher,” Belle realized, remembering the chilling words the god had left them with. _That little memory you have trapped in your net can help you far more than I can._ “The memory…”

“What memory?” Regina asked, the sound of her voice startling the others. She’d been so silent throughout the trip, Bell had almost forgotten she was there at all. Regina didn't seem to notice, though: she was focused on Henry, her arms folded over her chest, her eyes narrowed in concentration. Henry looked back at his adoptive mother, lost for words.

“I-I don’t know,” he said, shaking his head. “How would I? Someone took a memory from my head, and sealed it in the dreamcatcher, I don’t know who—I don’t know _why._ ”  He shifted his backpack off his shoulder, swinging it toward him. “It’s in my bag, we can—”

“Not here, Henry,” Regina said, putting up a cautious hand. “We need somewhere safe, somewhere closed-off.” She glanced at Rumple, giving a little nod. “The pawnshop.”

It felt good to have a plan: a solid, concrete plan. Belle breathed a little easier, now. Though they’d already agreed to find Rumple’s shop, it all hinged on the hopes that they _might_ find something of use there; now, they had an actual course of action, a true purpose. Even if Rumple had nothing helpful in there (though, she wasn't quite ready to sacrifice those hopes), they had the dreamcatcher, and the potential information that memory could unlock. 

“It seems we might have some use for you, after all,” Rumple said, turning on his heel to face Milah. A cold smile stretched his lips, derision heavy in his eyes. “You know this town well…You’ve been here long enough. Perhaps you could guide us.”

“You forget, Rumple,” Milah said icily, stepping forward. “The centuries I’ve been down here, the Underworld has not always appeared as such. I have seen a hundred different versions. It shifts, it changes with every change in my perception, with every recovered memory. So, no: I cannot guide you.” She gestured vaguely at the town square. “This is as foreign to me as it is to any of you— _more_ so. It is a reflection of your world, not mine.”

“Then it seems I was right,” Rumple sneered. “Useless.”

“Enough,” Regina interrupted, before Milah could retort. “There’s no need to antagonize her, Rumple, we may need her. She’s got every reason to help us, and we could use as many allies down here as we can get.”

“Why would I help him?” Milah scoffed, her glare deepening.

“Because we all want the same thing,” Regina answered coolly. “To find Neal.”

Milah didn’t answer for a moment: she kept her eyes on Rumple, hatred pulsing in her gaze. He stared back evenly, though his fist tightened at his side.

“You owe him this much,” Regina said, still looking at Milah. “Believe me, I know what it is to…to carry a mother’s guilt. And I know that it never gets away, not entirely.” She glanced briefly at Henry. “But you can start making up for it, piece by piece. And right now, you start by reuniting father and son.” She looked back to Milah, a small smile managing to make it to her face. “It’s what Neal would want.”

Milah looked at Regina for a long time, worry and indecision battling behind her eyes. “I can’t promise anything,” she said finally. “I can guide you as best I can through the Underworld, but this place is a labyrinth. I can give you no advantage.” She took a deep breath. “But if it gets me the chance to see my son again, I will do anything I can to help you.”

“Good,” Regina said. “We’ll start with the pawnshop.”


End file.
